Oh Mio Dio (Day 41)

Almost Home (Day 40)

Tomorrow is my last day in work, last full day in Venice, and last blog. Pinocchio knew. He’d changed his pose and was waving goodbye as I passed.

Today I spend my last day off frantically rushing around all the pavilions I hadn’t seen yet. When I arrived six weeks ago I thought I had ages, but it’s quickly caught up with me and, as always, I left everything to the last minute.

I started at the Giardini as I had missed three pavilions and the Illuminations exhibitions last time I was there. All I had to see was Finland, Hungary and Netherlands. When I got there a tree had fallen on Finland and I realised I had actually already seen Holland, so not the most successful start. I really enjoyed Hungary so that made up for it.

Illuminations this year was a bit like the Arsenale. It felt like they had been reined in and made to show a lot less art, which made it a much better show. Here’s some pictures of nice things I saw there…

This last piece was inspired by the 70’s in Argentina when the dictatorship banned ven diagrams in primary education as it was thought they could provide a model for subversive thought.

I then headed past the Welsh pavilion and onto the little island of San Pietro to see the Lucid Dreams show. Bearing in mind it was just before 1pm and all the shows close at 6pm, being greeted by a sign that says ‘Back at 5pm’ isn’t that helpful. So no Finland and no Lucid Dreams for me.

Nearby there were some happy little skeletons.

And a not so happy floating fish.

I popped back to the apartment for lunch and then headed out to see some more art. As I don’t have much blogging time left I wanted to throw this in. Even though it doesn’t really follow on from anything I’ve just said. It’s a nice sticker, and that’s reason enough for me.

On my travels I passed another freaky house (there was one on day 28 too). The owner had witch dolls and strange leather sculptures hanging from the balcony attached with meat hooks.

And then it was 6pm, everything closed and that was it in terms of art for me for the trip. I’m working tomorrow and then I’m off.  So all that is unseen will have to stay that way. I’ve seen some great art, and met some really lovely people so I don’t mind that it’s almost time to come home at all.

Talking of lovely people… During his last week Tom kept nagging me to put up a certain image on the blog. Every day we would walk past a shop that sold really tasty olive bread and gorgonzola. We’d stop quite often to get some bread and it would come in a paper bag with a cartoon image of four small children in some kind of fairy tale setting. Tom thought that the bag would look much better if it also had Eddie, the Iron Maiden mascot, on it and kept pestering me to draw him on and post it up. So Tom, here you go! Not sure the old man in the shop will agree with you recommendation.

Changes afoot (Day 39)

I’ve started to wind down, and get ready for going home. I have the weekend left and then I’ll be on a train back to Cardiff. I’m looking forward to being back on home turf. Today is the first time I’ve spoken Welsh in Venice and it made me a bit homesick again. I’ve had lots of people come up and talk to me about the Rugby tomorrow and wish us luck, and I’ve tried to look like I know what they’re talking about. A woman came in and complimented me on my strong Welsh accent. I didn’t want to disappoint her so went along with it. She’ll never know.  

The weather has properly turned now. Yesterday a strong cold wind arrived from the North, known as the Bora, which signifies a change in the seasons. It will be cold from now on. The sun is lower in the sky and larger, setting almost as soon as we leave work.

The water is high too, splashing up over the pavement.

It’s been nice to experience this change in season and see another side to Venice, but it’s also made me start to think about going home, back to a cosy house, friends and family. To romanticise it a bit, it’s like in the film Chocolat, when the North wind blows through the village, and they know that it’s time to move on. As Roman tells me (a photographer who has his studio opposite us), “you don’t want to come to Venice in the winter, it’s shit”.

We went to the spritz bar after work with some friends and drank until it was too cold to stay outside. Some skaters went passed, which is quite a novel sight in Venice. I’m not sure where they were going, but if you asked Roman he’d probably say “you don’t want to come to Venice to skate, it’s shit”.

At midnight Sam and I headed to St Marks square to watch some musicians we had met earlier today. They told us they were travelling around Europe playing for people who are out on the streets in the early hours of the morning, mainly homeless people.

One of them was an artist and architect from Australia who designs sensory saunas and plays ‘prescription’ music. Apparently a doctor will give him a prescription and he will play to the rhythm of the patient’s heartbeat while they look at a lightbox with different coloured stained glass. That’s a very basic rendition of his story, he was much more eloquent. He had Venice trainers.

They didn’t actually play much music, and most of the time we hung around chatting but they were very friendly and another of their acquaintances gave us some Lithuanian cake that is made without an oven. If there is no blog tomorrow you know why!

Damsel in distress (Day 38)

The first part of my day was spent locked in the apartment. I had a day off and was preparing to venture out and see some exhibitions I hadn’t managed to get to yet. The doorbell rang and it was my landlady, who lives upstairs. Her key wasn’t working, so I ran down to the door to let her in, but the door wouldn’t open. I could pull the latch but the bolt stayed firmly lodged in the wall. So I was locked in, and Dora, my landlady, was locked out. I can look back and laugh now but at the time, trying to speak through a door, with an old Italian lady in a stressful situation is not my idea of a pleasant start to the day.

She went off and got various locals to come and try to open the door. I watched the scene unfold from the kitchen window that overlooks the alley and the front door. She stood back and chain smoked, occasionally looking up at me and pulling faces, while a trail of metalworkers, shop owners and waiters tried to get the door open. Eventually she gave up and rang the fire brigade. Here they are coming to my rescue.

Thud, thud, thud. Dora pounded up the stairs, came into our apartment and proceeded to try and blame us for the door lock sticking. Apparently it was because we didn’t take our keys out of the lock carefully enough, or maybe that we turned the key the wrong way. No Dora, it’s because you have and old door, an old lock, and it’s finally broken. If anyone should be getting in a grump it’s me! Anyway, I let her speculate as to what we could have possibly done to break her unbreakable lock, and tell me how we must be more careful in future. Well that told me! I didn’t want to mention that she was the last person to use it when she went out and that I’d be in bed all morning, which is in an entirely different room to her precious lock. Let this be a lesson to us all – although Venetian locks have been around for hundreds of years, the slightest giggle in the wrong direction can completely knacker the sensitive little things!

 
So rant over, I set out to make the most of my afternoon. I found what is probably the oldest piece of graffiti in the world. It’s a rat with a long tail carved into a column at the end of Calle del Traghetto opposite the San Felice church in Canareggio. The roman numerals inscribed above it read 1644. So someone was out and about graffiti-ing rats way before Banksy, the copycat (or copy-rat, sorry rubbish joke).

 

A rat scuttled across my foot a few weeks ago when I was wearing flip flops. I was attempting a poorly thought out and prosecco fuelled crossing of a narrow ledge over a canal at the time (trying to take a short cut by Rialto) and nearly fell in.

I then headed to the Arsenale again to see the James Turrell piece I had missed before as the queue was too long.

The only other notable thing that happened today was that I bought a pen that looks like a pencil. I was pretty chuffed with myself and I think Sam and Rhian were very jealous when I showed them my purchase upon my return. You know it’s time to go home when one of the most interesting things about your day in Venice is a pen.

   

Venice V Wolverhampton (Day 37)

Today I found out that Venice is twinned with Wolverhampton. So I thought it would be fun to kind of play them off against each other, compare and contrast two very different places.

So I’ve devised a questionnaire to see how they compete. Here we go…

How long have they been around?

Wolverhampton: Founded in the year 985 and given city status in the year 2000.

Venice:  Founded in the year 421, became part of Italy in 1866.

Not much in it so far….

Population size?

Wolverhampton: 251,462 (in the last census in 2001)

Venice: 60,000 (estimated in 2009)

That’s a pretty big difference, not sure in who’s favour.

What’s the Coat of Arms like?

Venice wins hands down on this one.

Tell us an interesting fact about yourself…

Wolverhampton: The location of England’s first set of automated traffic lights.

Venice: Another ‘first’, this time ripped jeans. The craze started here. Young men, banned from wearing their fashionable bright coloured trousers by the Senate passing a Sumptuary Law, would wear bright coloured trousers under dull ones and slash the outer pair to let the inner pair peep through. This led on to a ‘slashed’ fashion style in the 15^th century. As we all know, fashion works in cycles and the craze hit again not so long ago.

What’s the climate like? (Venice is bound to win this one too)

Wolverhampton: Average highest temperature 21C, July and August. Average lowest temperature 1C, January and February. Highest average rainfall in a month 67mm, December.

Venice: Average highest temperature 27.5C, July. Average lowest temperature -0.9C, January. Highest average rainfall in a month 87.3mm, November.

So Venice gets colder AND has more rain! But only gets on average 6.5C warmer? Hmmm. Let’s help Venice out a bit…

Number of canals?

Wolverhampton: 4

Venice: 177

Venice wins at last!

What about famous residents?

Wolverhampton: Richard Attwood, the winner of the 1971 24 hour le Mans race. Button Gwinnett, who moved there to marry a local girl in 1755, moved to America in 1762, and in 1776 was the second of the signatories on the United States Declaration of Independence. Ruth Badger, runner up of the second series of the Apprentice - Venice eat your heart out, you don’t get much better than that! Dave Hill, the lead guitarist from Slade. Eric Idle, Beverly Knight and Jamelia.

But my personal favourite is Jόzef Stawinoga, also known as Fred. He emigrated to UK from Poland in the 1940’s and after a brief marriage to an Austrian woman he failed to turn up for work one day. At next sighting he was seen pushing a pram containing all his possessions. He ended up living in a tent on the grassy area of the inner Wolverhampton ring road for 40 years. Fred died on 28^th October 2007, aged 86. Wikipedia lists his occupation as ‘Hermit’. He has a Facebook group with 4,000 followers dedicated to him and was treated as a holy man by local Hindu and Sikh communities as they believe he lead a truly enlightened life. The City Council paid for his funeral and he left thousands of pounds untouched in his pension fund. A bronze statue is being designed to commemorate him.

Venice: All the usual ones really. Bellini, Titian, Tintoretto, Canaletto and many others from the Venetian School. Aldus Manutius, a printer who invented italic type and established the modern use for the semicolon. Marco Polo, the famous explorer (and airport). Vivaldi of course. Elena Cornaro Piscopia, the first woman in the world to receive a doctorate degree. Casanova, the famous womaniser and 18^th century version of Russell Brand. More recently there has been George Clooney and Elton John.

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So there you have it, a completely thorough and rigorous investigation into the differences and similarities of Venice and Wolverhampton. I have to say Wolverhampton has done remarkably well for itself, I thought Venice would beat it hands down, but it held its own and in my opinion has come out victorious. Fred did it for me!

Communism and Smoked Mozzarella (Day 36)

After staying up most of the night today was fuelled by lots of nice coffee. I’m glad it’s not so hot anymore or I could have easily fallen asleep. I actually think I’m becoming acclimatized. There were people walking around in t-shirts today, but I had a scarf and woolly cardigan on and still felt chilly. The walk to and from work is enjoyable now, and I can carry a bag without sweating profusely, which is a much better look.

Every day I walk past this Communist bar. There are loads of pictures of Che Guevara on the walls and old men sitting around from nine in the morning drinking and presumably putting the world to rights. If I could speak Italian I’d love to go in but my language skills aren’t up to political debating standard yet. I could just about order my drink and then I’d be stuck.

The Italian Communist Party was founded in 1921 and during the 60’s approximately 5% of Italy’s population were communists, which was the largest percentage in a capitalist country. In 1991 it became the Democratic Party of the Left who are still active in Italian politics today.

We got home and Sam cooked up some lovely polenta and wild mushrooms and then we had a night in. Not something I’ve done a lot of here so it was good to relax.

We’ve tried to get the TV working but it’s a complicated device, so I’ve settled for reading about what I could be watching instead. It’s amazing how many British and American programmes are on Italian TV. If there was this many Italian programmes on British TV no one would have a clue what they were watching. It reminded me again how little of the language I know, and how rubbish that is of me. I painted red over all the American or British programmes to give a bit of a representation for blogging purposes. ‘Paris Hilton’s New Best Friend’ seems to be a favourite, as is ‘Jersey Shore’.

9pm: Film. That looks like it might be good!

‘And Finally’ - as today’s title might suggest, I’ve discovered smoked mozzarella and the world is now a better place. It doesn’t look very appetising, but that’s part of it’s deceptive charm.  

Churches (Day 35)

We took it slowly this morning, and Sam got accustomed to his new environment. Then we headed out to visit some churches I’ve wanted to see for a while.

First up was San Pantalon, without doubt the most impressive ceiling I have seen in my whole time in Venice. It’s free to get in and if you only ever see one church in Venice make sure it’s this one. As you look up it seems that the characters depicted in the frescoes on the ceiling are looking down at you precariously balanced on ledges around the room, and the centre spirals up to the sky, or heaven. I really can’t put into words how impressive it is! Photographs weren’t allowed, but I bought a postcard and have taken a photo of it to try to show what it looks like.

The story of Saint Pantalon was great too. It is claimed that he was brought up by a Catholic mother and Pagan father, but when his mother died he turned his back on Catholicism and became a physician. He rediscovered religion later in life after being convinced that he could heal wounds, but that God was the most powerful physician of all as he could heal souls. After curing a blind man and refusing to say it was an act of God, not of his own, he was sentenced to death but all attempts to take his life failed. He was thrown into the sea attached to a rock, but it floated. He was burnt at the stake but the fire went out. He was thrown to the lions but they refused to eat him. There was an attempt to behead him but the sword bent. Finally he was beheaded after he agreed to it. He is considered a martyr and worshiped in many countries.

San Rocco was next, the patron saint of infectious diseases. He cured the plague so they erected this Scuola in his honour, and Tintoretto decorated a lot of it. My mum told me to make sure I go upstairs in this one, as it’s the best bit. I forgot – sorry mum! But if anyone is reading this and planning a trip to Venice, go upstairs in the Scuola San Rocco, I have it on very good authority that it’s worth it.

We finished at the Frari, the location of Titian’s assumption. (Another photo of a photo).

It’s amazing that in the 1300’s buildings like this could be built. The stonework is the most impressive. It’s so precise that there is a distinct pattern to the walls. Others are frescoed and there are loads of paintings and carvings by famous artists. The sculptor Canova has his monument here that is made to look like a beam of light coming down from the window above. He actually carved it himself as a mausoleum for Titian, but they’ve now put Canova’s heart in it. The rest of his body is in Possagno. I’m not sure if Titian is in there with him, he’s definitely somewhere in the Frari.

We left the church and wandered home slowly, stopping off at an art shop by Campo Santo Stefano. Half the shop sells calligraphy pens, real paint pigment and ink, the other half sells toilet paper, cleaning products and hardware. It’s a bit of a bizarre mix, but handy if you have a very specific shopping list. They have a book for shoppers to try out the pens. Here are a few of the best pages from it.

Using my powers of artistic interpretation, I suspect this is a drawing of a willy disguised as the Eiffel Tower.

In Campo Santo Stefano there was a man on the roof, merrily wandering about doing his job without a harness. Like health and safety gone mad, but in reverse.

Closer to home we came across some more interesting shop window displays. Someone had put a lot of effort, paper and selotape into this slightly surreal scene.

I’d recommend avoiding the top floor of the Coin department store, unless you’re up for a bit of seduction.

But if you’re seduction is a little too successful there is always a shop that sells prams and baby clothes opposite.

We made it home and cooked a mean risotto and waited for our final new housemate, Rhian, who arrived a little later than expected because her bag had decided to take a detour. So when we were finally all together, we drank prosecco and got to know each other into the wee small hours. It’s quite strange spending five weeks with the same two people, and then suddenly one day they leave and two new people arrive.